Tea Cups and Hand Guns
by Crimson Seale
Summary: A tragic past keeping her awake at night, Kendra meets a man who will quiet those fears, instead filling her with new ones. Moriarty/OC. If you like it, please review.
1. Day One

The buzz of the streets continued in its normal fashion as Kendra pulled her jacket tighter about her neck. It was chilly. She kept her head down, hoping no one would see her tear stained face and the dark circles under her eyes from getting next to no sleep the night before.

She practically jumped inside the door to the coffee shop, instantly warmed by the heat and smell of brewing caffeine. Taking a seat at the closest table, she waited for the queue to shorten before getting in herself. With a quick rubbing together of her hands for warmth, she pulled out her phone.

The door opened and another customer came in. She ignored the distraction and found the weather application on her device. It was to be cold all week. With a groan of frustration, she put her phone away and looked up. There was only one other person in line and he was just finishing paying, so she got to her feet and went to stand behind him. Once at the counter, she ordered a black coffee, her eyes barely open, and soon after, she received her cup and went to sit back down. But someone else occupied her seat.

"Excuse me?" she said, tapping him on the shoulder. "I was sitting here."

The man looked up and pushed his blue "London" cap up a bit, his big brown eyes meeting hers.

"I'm sorry," he said, smiling. "I didn't know."

She nodded. "That's alright."

The man got up from the booth and let her in, then slid onto the opposite bench, resting his elbows on the table as he looked her over.

"Now you have your seat, and I have my own," he said, turning back to his phone. "I'm Jim, by the way."

"Kendra," she replied, trying not to look at him. He was rather cute, but she wasn't in the mood for flirting this morning.

"Kendra? I guessed as much," the stranger said, not looking up from the device in his hand.

"Sorry?"

Jim shifted in his seat to find a comfortable position.

"You look like a Kendra, what with your hair and your eyes, your shoes, even."

She looked down at her feet. "My shoes?"

"Yes. The style coupled with the height of the heels points to your personality. You're actually rather short and try to hide it with high shoes. Mostly Christy's, Nicole's, and Kendra's have this character trait."

She looked at him in amazement. "You sure know a lot," she laughed.

He was brightening her mood and she could feel the weight of last night's terror lifting off her weary body. Flirting might just be what the doctor ordered.

Jim looked up at her with a short chuckle. "It's my curse."

Sipping back the last of her coffee, she said, "Well I drank that quickly!"

He nodded absently, looking at his phone again.

"You know," she started. "I live alone. I haven't had any...er...guests lately. Would you like to come over sometime?"

Jim just about sputtered his drink away. "Umm... I suppose?"

She smiled. "Good. You should finish your coffee first. You'll need the energy."

A chuckle escaped her when his eyebrows went up.

"Well," he began. "Now is the only time I have today. I've got a full schedule."

"So do I," she agreed with a grin.

They looked at each other for a moment, each waiting for the other to move. After what felt like a lifetime, Jim stood and took her cup from her to toss it in the bin with his, and they set off.

Kendra unlocked the door to her flat and let him inside, locking the door behind them. Before she could say anything, he had her up against the wall, pulling her jacket from her shoulders. She reached up to take the cap from his head and tossed it somewhere into the interior of the room. Next, her shirt was lifted over her head. She kicked off her shoes, no longer taller than him, and he leaned in for a kiss.

She had just managed to get his shirt off, her hands wandering over his chest, when his phone rang.

They stopped, the mood mercilessly killed.

"I need to get that," he said apologetically.

She nodded and he stepped away to answer the call.

"Yes?" he said to the person on the other end.

Kendra picked up her shirt and held it to her chest, feeling awkward standing in the corner by the door.

"What do you mean?... It's ready now?... All right. I'm on my way."

Jim turned to her, his eyebrows pushed together in regret.

"I am so sorry. My meeting got moved up."

They began gathering their clothing and pulling it back over their bare skin.

"Might I walk you to your meeting?" Kendra dared to ask in the deafening silence.

Jim placed his cap on his head. "Probably not."

"Well, I'm coming anyway, whether you like it or not," she replied, trying to sound playful, not desperate for human interaction.

He looked at her, puzzled, then walked out the door with her close behind.

"Will there be time after your meeting?" she asked once they got out onto the street.

"Probably not," Jim answered, looking at his watch.

He stopped to pull out his phone.

"What is it?" she pressed, looking over his shoulder.

He pressed a button and a message popped up on the screen:

_Destroying Bank_

A gasp escaped her mouth, but it was lost in the noise of the explosion three blocks down. She covered her ears, flinching. She could feel the shockwaves hitting her chest. The rumble of the building falling in on itself was deafening.

After a moment, she opened one eye to look at the man in front of her. Jim was standing on the sidewalk, arms outstretched, a malicious smile across his lips as he listened to the sound of destruction.

Shrinking back, away from him, she watched as he began dancing around on his toes, eyes closed and singing, waltzing down the pavement as he went.

"What the hell, Jim?!" Kendra shouted over the sirens bellowing by. "What is wrong with you?"

He turned to her, opening his mouth to speak, and she unstopped her ears to hear him.

"Everything," he whispered.

A black car pulled up to the curb and he opened the door, setting his left foot inside.

"It was fun, Kendra," he said in a sing-song voice. "But my meeting has started. Buh-bye!"

Kendra's mind flashed with a thousand thoughts in that instant. What was going on? Who was this guy? Why did he just destroy one of the biggest banks in the whole of London? She wanted to run away, to hide in darkness from this mad man, but in the back of her mind was the thought that she shouldn't let him get away, and she decided to listen to it.

Before he could get the door closed, she threw her foot in the opening and forced her way inside.

"What are you doing?!" Jim cried as the door slammed and the car began to move.

Kendra slapped him across the face, knocking his cap off.

"That's for lying to me! I've seen enough already to be a key witness at your trial! And I told you I was coming whether you like it or not!"

It was a dumb excuse for sure, but Jim still threw his hands up in defeat.

"All right. You can come. But only if you do exactly as I tell you."

She nodded as the car stopped again.

"Stay here," Jim said softly.

Another nod, as she was unable to do anything else, what with the fear crippling her movements.

"No." He leaned close to her, an accusing finger staring her down. "Stay. Right. Here." He tapped her nose, smiled, and left the car.

Once he was gone, Kendra took a breath and rubbed her hands together, this time from nervousness, not the cold.

_What am I doing here? _she thought. _I shouldn't be here. He'll kill me without hesitation. What was I thinking?_

The door opened and Jim slid into the seat next to her, slamming the door shut before the chill could make its way into the car. But he was different now. He was dressed in a suit and tie with dress shoes and an overcoat. Not only had he changed clothes, but his whole character-the way he carried himself, the way he observed the world passing them by-was different.

He held something out to her but it took a moment for her to shift her focus away from his new demeanor.

"Lose the heels, honey," Jim commanded. "And the up-do. It's unbecoming of you."

"Excuse me, but where do you get off-"

He turned his head lazily in her direction, his skull rotating disinterestedly, a look of total indifference on his face.

"Remember our agreement?"

She swallowed around the lump in her throat, the momentary bravery slipping through her grasp.

"I thought so," he said. "If you're going to be around all day, I want you to at _least _be presentable. You look like a hooker as you are now."

He turned away, his movement just as disinterested as before. His hand was still extended toward her, two shoes dangling from his fingers. She shrank away from him, but followed his instructions. She slid the shoes off her feet and slipped on the new ones, cute ballet flats. She tested them, bending her foot this way and that, and determined that they were no good for running. But maybe that was the point.

"I guessed your shoe size to be about a seven and a half."

Jim rolled down the window, taking her seventy-five quid pumps, and tossed them out of the opening, causing a few cars to swerve behind them. At this, he smiled.

_It's as if he likes making people suffer_, Kendra thought.

What had happened to nice, sweet, little Jim at the coffee shop? Now he was a sadistic psychopath, dressed up as a man.

"The hair?"

Kendra just about jumped out of her skin at the two words. He was looking at her again, his face uncomfortably close to hers.

"Sorry," she apologized, clutching her chest to quiet her pounding heart. "I forgot."

She reached up and pulled out the pins holding the neat bun she had worked so hard on that morning. Her red-gold hair fell from its place in cascades of wavy silk over her shoulders. Her hair was the one thing she liked about herself, the one thing she allowed herself to be proud of.

"That's better," Jim said, grinning. "Now you look pretty."

Kendra's jaw clenched and something in her mind snapped. Rage built up inside her diaphragm until she violently took hold of his collar, pulling herself around in front of him.

"You have no right to say that to me, you bloody asshole!"

She was shaking him, her hands trembling in anger. Her eyes glared down into his face, her teeth bared like a lioness going in for the kill.

His grin slowly grew bigger. "Very good, Kenny! You'll do nicely."

"What in the bloody hell are you stammering about?!" she shouted, giving his collar another fierce shake.

Jim lifted the console between the seats and glanced down into it. She followed his gaze, catching a glimpse of a Glock 30SF resting inside. Slowly, she let go of his collar and backed away. He closed the console and she took her seat again.

"I like you, Kenny. Really I do. Just don't go threatening me like that again." There was a silence as he straightened his shirt and adjusted his tie. "So which division was it? Special forces? Sniper?"

She froze, eyes wide and hands trembling. "How...how did you know?"

He turned his gaze back to the window, his voice droning on in a monotone as he listed off the little details that he noticed about her. "You're fit for a woman of your caliber. Just now, when you attacked me, you lost control of yourself and acted on instinct rather than intellect; traits of a special ops soldier. So which division was it?"

Kendra stared into her shaking hands, her memories crippling all natural functions.

"Interpol," she finally managed.

"I see."

The car stopped again and Jim prepared to leave.

"Same as before," he instructed, eyes drilling into her skull. "Don't move until I say so."

She nodded, silenced by the villainous look in his eyes.

"Barry, you know the drill," Jim tossed over his shoulder as he got out.

"Yes, sir," Barry acknowledged, he turning on the radio, static filling the car interior.

Kendra watched Jim walk round the back end of the vehicle and enter the warehouse they were now parked in front of. The static in the speakers eventually cleared and she could hear what sounded like footsteps, then a voice.

"You finally made it!"

"Had a small diversion," Jim's voice replied.

She rolled her eyes. A diversion? That's what he was calling it?

"You got my money?"

Jim hesitated. "Not all of it."

"Come on! I held up my end! Where's my goddamn money?"

Jim tried to calm the man.

"I have twenty-five percent with me now. I didn't think you'd go through with it like last time, so I don't have it all. If you had done it right the first time-"

"Shut up! Collin, get rid of him!"

Kendra's eyes widened. Instinctively, she reached for the gun in the console and jumped out of the car, taking the silencer that was laying beside the gun as well. She heard Barry's protests, but ignored them. She screwed the silencer into the end of the barrel and stood at the entrance to the warehouse, peering around the corner.

The one named Collin held Jim stiffly as the other guy tapped the butt of a gun to his palm.

"One last time, Moriarty. I know you have quid stashed all over this city. Where is it?"

Jim stood silently and stared his adversary down, his eyes narrowed like an angry feline.

The man raised his gun, pulling the hammer back.

Instinct kicked in again. Kendra raised the Glock, one hand under the magazine well, the other wrapped firmly around the grip, just like in training. It felt so familiar that she didn't even have to think about it. She aimed carefully at the man with the gun, and tapped the trigger.

He went down silently, and she had about two seconds to shoot the other one before he would turn, using Jim as a human shield. But her reflexes were still quick and she planted a bullet in his brain before he even had time to shift his weight.

Jim shook the thug off his shoulders and turned to find his savior.

"Didn't I tell you to stay?" he asked, walking angrily toward her.

She hid the gun inside her jacket and waved him on.

"Let's go before the police arrive!"

Jim followed her and they slid into the car just as Barry pushed the pedal to the floor, and they were gone.

Kendra unscrewed the silencer and placed it and the gun back in the console.

"That really should be cleaned," she said timidly.

Both she and Jim were trying to calm their breathing. He inhaled deeply before turning to her with that criminal smile.

"I knew you would be useful."

"Yes. Well, I'm glad." Kendra looked around, feeling like she was going to vomit. She couldn't think. She couldn't was no oxygen in the vehicle. She needed out.

"Stop the car!"

They came to a halt as she jumped out, running for the nearest building. Jim got out and followed her inside to the stairwell.

"Stop, Kenny! Wait!" he shouted.

She didn't listen. Instead, she ran up the stairs to the roof. Once there, she ran to the edge, gripping the block that served as a railing, and finally stopped to take a breath. The air ten stories up was much clearer.

"Kenny, what are you doing?" Jim called, coming to her side.

She turned on him, eyes narrowed. "Stop calling me that!"

Jim flinched, but recovered his criminal attitude with a grin reminiscent of the Chesire Cat. "Oh, my dear! I _like_ it when you're angry!"

Kendra threw her hands up with a frustrated scream and violently turned away from him. "You're _insane_!"

Jim laughed. "Really? I didn't know."

She took a few more deep breaths of the air, then turned around on her heel which was now firmly planted on the ground, thanks to his choice of shoes.

"You don't understand, Jim. That was the third time I've taken a life, and I still haven't recovered from the first two."

Jim paused, squinting sideways at her. "Really?"

She breathed deeply again, calming her heart rate. "Yes. Even though I was Interpol, I only ever needed to shoot someone twice. Most of the time, people quailed at the mere sight of my gun."

Jim looked down at his feet, his eyes glancing up at her every few seconds. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Kendra crossed her arms defensively, looking him over. He seemed sincere. _Strange._

"Maybe," she managed.

He sat on the edge of the block railing and patted the stone beside him. She slowly lowered herself down, taking another breath.

"Just one question before I continue," she said.

"Hmm?"

"Why are you doing this?" she asked. "Letting me talk?"

He looked at his watch, then down the height of the building, his lips turned down in a thoughtful frown. "Because I have half an hour before my next meeting...and I'm bored," he shrugged.

She waited for a moment before allowing herself to tell him her tale.

"That first day I started," she began. "They put me with the snipers. At first, I loved it. I'm a good shot and I like high places. I feel safe up here, in control. I guess that's why I wear those shoes." She thought back to the pair that were now lying in the road, probably getting ruined. "I think I need to be high up to feel alright, to breathe."

Jim nodded, listening intently as she spoke to the air just left of his shoulder.

"That day, I was in position, had the target in my sights, and I was given the order to pull the trigger. It...it was the first life I had ever taken.

"I went into a serious depression after that. I was transferred to different departments every week until I landed in special ops. There, I found my home...for a while."

Jim glanced down at his hands, almost afraid to ask. "What happened?"

"I had to kill a friend. My partner was a turncoat and I was the only one who could get close enough to stop him. After that, I left Interpol. Got a boring desk job as a temp." She stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I still come up here sometimes, though. Just _breathe _the air up here, Jim."

Jim breathed in, his eyes closing as he pulled the air into his lungs. "It tastes good."

"Yes. Yes it does."

Jim thought a moment, then opened one eye to look at her. "So then, if you don't like killing, why did you shoot the Johnson brothers to save me?"

She paused. She didn't really know. Her body had acted on its own, the familiarity of the situation making it easy to slip back into old habits.

"Reflex, I suppose," she answered. "I responded to the situation the way anyone would."

"But you know that I caused the explosion at the bank, killing lots of little ordinary people. Yet, you still risked yourself for me."

She turned to him, her eyebrows furrowed in contempt. "What are you suggesting?"

He smiled and leaned close to her ear, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"I think you like me."

She jumped to her feet, backing away, trembling in confusion and rage and disgust. "That's...that's _insane_!"

He stood and came close to her. Too close.

"I know attraction when I see it," he said quietly.

She stared at him, part of her afraid, part of her enraged.

"How do you get off thinking these twisted-"

"Your eyes, honey." The words abruptly cut her sentence short, throwing her off. "They're dilated, even now. That's sexual attraction. Secondly, the act of saving my life. That should be obvious, even to you."

Her body wouldn't stop shaking. Still, he stepped closer, his lips just brushing her ear, his voice dropping to a whisper once more.

"It's not wrong, you know, to fall for a psychopath like me...when you are one yourself."

Repulsion took her, and she stepped back, preparing to strike if need be. Somehow, she managed to stop herself before injuring him.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was a psychopath, a sociopath, even. She felt no remorse for the lives she'd ended just moments ago. Maybe he was right. She hadn't felt quite human since...the _incident_. Maybe she was sick. Like him.

Jim pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling through pages to find the particular application. One tap of the screen, and violins began to play from the speakers. He placed it back in his pocket, humming to the tune and moved closer to her.

"It's okay to like me, Kenny, because...I like you too," he said softly.

He slipped a hand behind her and rested it on her back, lacing the fingers of the other hand between hers. She tensed, started to back away, but he held her to him.

"Shhh... It's okay," he soothed her. "You're sick like me. It's okay to like this. Just let go."

She hesitated, her head turned away from his face. Part of her wanted to run, but the other part was slowly melting under his touch. Maybe she was sick. Maybe. Just maybe...

Her muscles loosened and she placed her free hand on his shoulder, letting herself be pulled closer until their bodies were touching. She slowly turned her head back to him, laying it on his chest. After a moment, he dropped his face down, a cheek on her soft hair.

And they began dancing on the rooftop to the violins playing from within Jim's pocket.

* * *

After a few more stops, Jim dropped her off at her flat.

"Will you be alright by yourself?" he asked as she tried to unlock the door.

"Yes. I'll probably go right to sleep," she laughed as the portal opened.

"Well...good night, then."

Jim gave her a curt nod before sliding back into the car and leaving. For a moment, Kendra thought she saw a trace of Jim from the coffee shop come back. His voice had gotten soft again and the way he walked back to the car made him seem more approachable than he had been before. She watched the car drive away, wondering just _who _Jim Moriarty was.

Once inside, she threw herself onto the sofa, slowly drifting into sleep. The last thought to enter her mind before losing consciousness was a question, one that would haunt her for long time afterward.

_What have I done?_

* * *

**So let me know what you guys think and I'll do more.  
**


	2. Day Two-Morning

"Rise and shine, sweetheart! Wakey-wakey!"

Kendra forced her eyes open, trying to focus on reality. Her vision was still blurry, but she could see Jim standing in her flat, inspecting the desk which was covered in papers from six months ago. She remembered deciding to clean that yesterday, before...

"Oh noooo..."she moaned.

"What?" Jim asked, still looking at the mess of papers.

Kendra rolled over and rubbed her eyes. Her back hurt. She had fallen asleep on the sofa and now it was eleven o'clock...

"Oh no! I'm late! I am so, seriously late!"

She jumped to her feet and flew past Jim. In her bedroom, she threw open the closet while glancing at the clock. She was going to be in so much trouble when she got to work.

"I called in for you," Jim said, coming to lean against the doorway. "I told them you were sick yesterday and still recovering."

Kendra stopped short.

Jim. He was here, in her flat. How had he...?

"Hey," she said, poking her head around the door of the closet. "How did you get in?"

Jim straightened and shrugged.

"The door was unlocked."

Unlocked?! Her doors and windows were never unlocked.

"Jim, are you sure it was unlocked?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes," he replied. "I came inside, found your door, and tried the knob. It was unlocked."

Kendra rubbed a hand on her bleary-eyed face, trying to make sense of it. Maybe she hadn't locked it when she got home last night. But that was so unlike her. She never left anything unlocked, not since _the incident_.

"Either way," she said, going back to her closet. "You just walking in here while I'm sleeping is a little creepy."

Jim grinned as he took a step into the room. "Creepy is what I do."

Kendra was digging furiously through the pile of clothes in the closet, trying to find something suitable to wear and failing.

"Let me help," said Jim, coming to her side. He began digging through the pile as she stood back. "By the way," he said over his shoulder, "I threw out all of your heels."

"What?! Those shoes were expensive?" Kendra shouted, aghast. "Just how long have you been here, anyway?"

"About an hour."

An hour? While she was sleeping? She shivered, starting to rethink her choice the day before. Maybe she shouldn't have gone after him, spent the day with him. He seemed to be dangerous, very dangerous.

"Here," Jim said.

He handed her a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and she held them to her chest. She wanted to put a wall, not a pair of jeans, between her body and his. He frightened her and she needed to quell that fear. She glanced around nervously, looking for a way out. Suddenly she woke up completely and realized just what was really going on.

"You're in my room!" she exclaimed.

"So?"

"Isn't that a little strange?"

Jim stood straight and pulled his sleeves down. "Had things worked out yesterday, I would have been here anyway."

He went back to searching as she hugged the jeans tighter, imagining the possibility. She had willingly brought him here. She had invited a murderer into her home, not that it was much of a home.

_But that was before I knew_, she reminded herself. _Back then, he was nice little Jim from the coffee shop. He wasn't a murderer then._

Finally, he emerged triumphant with a dark maroon sleeveless sweater. The turtle neck and drop waist belt looked like a nice fit for her. She'd forgotten all about this little piece.

"This with those jeans, your green jacket, and the shoes I gave you yesterday," he instructed. "And brush your hair."

Kendra took the shirt from him and set it on the bed with the jeans, placing a hand on her hip.

"Who are you that you come in here and tell me what to wear and what to do?"

Jim threw his hands up in surrender as he ducked out of the room.

"Just trying to help," he replied.

Kendra rolled her eyes as the door closed. She glanced down at the clothes on the bed, debating on whether or not to put them on or pull on an oversized sweater and yoga pants. Jim seemed to think they were going some where, so just to appease him, maybe she ought to follow his instructions. He was _dangerous _after all.

"Come on all ready," Jim groaned from the other side of the door.

"Just calm down," she called back.

The shirt felt good on her skin. How long had this thing been hiding in the closet? She pulled on the jeans and slipped her feet into the flats from yesterday. Finally, she looked at herself in the mirror.

"I'm coming in," Jim said angrily, fumbling with the doorknob.

But Kendra never heard him.

_How? _she thought. _This isn't right._

Jim tried to bring her back to reality, waved his hand in front of her face, tapped her arm, but she never stopped staring into the mirror.

Her mind slowed, her heart almost stopped and her vision blurred back into the haziness of sleep.

Ever since the _incident_, as she called it, that face was all she could see in the mirror. It was her face, yes. And yet it wasn't. Ever since that night, it was the only face she saw in the looking glass. Her face covered in blood, frightened and screaming and _covered in blood._

But today, that face was no longer there. She saw her own face again and it stared back at her in shock.

"Kenny? Are you still in there?"

Jim was peering at her strangely, an inquisitive look in his eye. She blinked and looked away, a hand shielding her from his piercing gaze.

"Sorry. Have a headache," she said slowly.

Jim backed away, obviously dissatisfied.

"Well, hurry up. Barry is downstairs waiting."

Kendra picked up her hairbrush and ran it through her flaming locks, avoiding looking at her reflection. She quickly grabbed her army green jacket and left the flat. Jim was already at the bottom of the stairs, his overcoat and scarf wrapped tightly about him.

"So you're finally ready to go," he smiled.

They exited the flat building and slid into the back seat of the car, just like the had the day before.

"Just so you know," Kendra said cautiously. "I have something I need to do today at five so I'll have to leave you at about four to get there on time."

Jim shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem."

The car started the roll forward as Barry pulled into traffic. Kendra looked out the window, watching the world pass by. She felt Jim beside her, his presence overwhelming her. He felt so dark today. The air around him had turned black and the sick cheerfulness that had been plastered to his lips had vanished. He felt cold, distant. She could hardly look at him. The sight chilled her bones.

_What happened to nice Jim? Where did he go?_

The car stopped suddenly. Jim looked around, obviously irritated.

"What's the matter? Why aren't we moving?"

Barry said something unintelligible over his shoulder. Kendra decided to ignore the incident as they started forward again. They passed another block, turned a corner and then stopped in front of a restaurant called Speedy's. Across the street, Kendra could see police tape sectioning off what looked like a bombing site. She couldn't help but wonder if maybe something happened the night before after Jim dropped her off at her place. It wouldn't be all that surprising.

Jim pulled on a pair of leather gloves before getting out of the car. Kendra followed, placing her feet on the street outside and stepping around to the back where Jim was digging in the storage compartment. A car flew by her, startling her for a moment. She held her chest, breathing deeply to calm her racing heart, following behind Jim as he stepped onto the sidewalk and went to the door that stood beside the restaurant. Kendra read the address.

_221B._

Jim didn't knock, but instead pulled out a set of lock picks, handing Kendra the bag he had retrieved from the trunk.

"Mrs. Hudson always locks everything up before she leaves," he said absently while fitting the pieces into the lock.

Kendra looked around nervously, clutching the bag until her knuckles turned white.

"Don't you think someone will see us and find it suspicious? Someone might call the cops!"

"That's why you're supposed to keep a lookout," Jim answered, his voice darkening. "There! I've got it. In you go."

He held the door for her and she slipped inside. It was still rather cold in the front entrance, but at least there wasn't so much wind.

Jim moved past her after closing the door tightly. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking up their height with a smile on his face.

"Oh, it's simply delicious, isn't it? Being here while you're out, my dear. But I'll save going through your flat for last."

Kendra didn't understand any of his ramblings. He spoke quietly, more to himself than to her, and she really didn't want to know what he was talking about.

Jim turned away from the stairs and followed the narrow corridor to the back of the place. Kendra, still holding the bag, poked her head around the corner to see him picking the lock of another door. Once it was open, he waved her over.

"Come on. We have to get everything set up. Sherlock will be getting my message soon. It has to be ready when he sees it."

He took the bag from her, letting her in the room first. It was dark and smelled of mildew. They went through another door into what Kendra asumed was meant to be a sitting room. There was a crumbling fireplace on the far wall and a full length mirror in the corner to the left of the fireplace. The paint and wallpaper was peeling and falling. Dust lay everywhere. Kendra could see why it was uninhabited.

"Here," Jim said, pulling her out of her reverie. "Take this." He handed her a phone. "Take a picture of that wall."

She followed his gesture to the wall opposite them.

"That? You want a picture of a dusty, old fireplace?"

"Just do it," Jim pleaded.

She turned away from him with a shrug, holding the phone up and taking the desired photo.

"There, it's done," she said, turning around to hand Jim the device.

He had pulled a pair of shoes out of the bag that now sat on the floor at his feet. He ignored her, stepping to the center of the room and looking around, then placing the shoes on the floor. A few seconds passed as he looked the scene over from various angles, arranging the laces this way and that. He seemed to care a lot about those shoes.

After he had set them in the _correct _position, he took the phone from her. She watched him compose a message, selecting first an audio file, then the picture she had just taken moments ago. One tap, and the message was sent. Jim checked his watch, then smiled to himself.

"Right on time."

His phone buzzed with a message that said _He has it. Good timing, boss._

Kendra decided not to try and reason this out. Whatever scheme Jim was playing at, it was beyond her comprehension. So she blindly followed him back into the corridor, watched him lock the door again, then head up the stairs. He entered the flat at the next landing without a knock or care in the world.

"Shouldn't you be checking to see if anyone is here?" she asked, stepping just inside the door with her arms crossed.

"Sherlock and John are at the police station with Lestrade," Jim answered, setting the bag down and pulling out its contents. "I sent Mrs. Hudson on an errand before we got here. We need to move quickly. Sherlock will have gotten the message by now and should be heading this way, if he really is as smart as they say."

Kendra nodded, taking another step inside. The place was a mess. It looked like the bomb from across the street had gone off in there. Yet, somehow she knew that wasn't the case.

Jim took something from the mess of things on the floor and held it out to her.

"You are familiar with surveillance, yes?"

Again, she nodded, feeling very uncomfortable with what she knew was about to come next.

"I need you to find a good hiding place for this. Can you do that for me?"

For a moment, his eyes softened. He became more like a man than a ruthless snake. The nearness of his skin as he placed the camera in her hand sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't understand herself. This man was obviously invading _someone's_ privacy with her in tow, yet she felt safe with him. Something was definitely wrong. But, what was it he had said the day before?

_You're sick...like me. It's okay to like it._

Was it though? Was it really okay?

She didn't have time to have this debate as he was pushing her off to find a place to put the device.

After a quick survey of the room, she decided that somewhere on the bookcase would be best. Easy to hide something behind books. The shelves were overflowing with them. Yes, this is the place. She moved closer, looking up at the top shelf. _There. _That little spot would do perfectly. She stepped carefully onto a stack of papers and books and who knows what else, reaching up to place the adhesive onto the wood. She made sure the camera had a clear line of vision as she placed a book in front of it.

"Looks good," Jim praised.

Kendra smiled and dropped down from her perch. "That should do it."

She turned to Jim, who was reading through a file sitting on the table between the two windows overlooking the street.

"What's that?" she asked.

Her confidence seemed to have grown since his compliment. She couldn't decide whether or not she should accept that or not.

"It's the missing link," said Jim, his grin spreading. "I'll use this to tie my plan together. This should get him to come play."

Kendra saw the picture of a young man, a name printed on the paper behind it. _Andrew West. _She caught sight of another name printed on the sheet. _Bruce-Partington. _

Just then, Jim's phone buzzed again, startling them both. He closed the file and pulled his phone out of his pocket, examining the new message.

"We need to go. They are close."

With that, he took the bag in his hand and started to leave, stopping short for a moment to look at the wall behind the sofa. Kendra stood beside him, staring at the bizzarre picture.

"Is that...are those bullet holes?" she dared to ask.

"It would seem so," Jim replied with a chuckle. "You really do the funniest things when you get bored..."

She realized that the latter sentence wasn't aimed at her, remembering this Sherlock character Jim seemed to talk to in his head. Who was he and why was Jim so obsessed with him?

Gloved fingers gripped her arm and led her down the stairs and into the street. Jim locked the door behind them and helped her into the car. Soon they were pulling away, another car quickly taking their place.

Kendra saw an older lady get out, one she assumed was Mrs. Hudson, and enter the building. A moment later, another car pulled up and two men emerged from inside, one tall with dark hair, the other shorter and blond. They must have been Sherlock and John.

Jim was watching, too. He smiled as Barry turned a corner and 221B was out of sight. The curl of his lips reminded Kendra of the frightening, yellow smiley face painted on the wall in Sherlock's flat and, for a moment, she wondered if Jim would end up with bullets in his face as well.


End file.
